


Of Bizarre Oddities

by LePipi



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 20:05:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4450427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LePipi/pseuds/LePipi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on a job, Davos comes to meet Stannis of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm... Or so he claims.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Bizarre Oddities

The assignment was simple enough. Well, not terribly simple, as nothing ever was in his line of business, but it was direct and seemingly clear. The museum of Waterford was a shabby structure, not well taken care of neither cared for. All for the better, then.

It had been a long while since he’d gotten another assignment. To be perfectly honest, Davos was tired and getting twitchy about the whole ordeal. He was a man ‘of a certain age’ and nothing about it seemed right. All of those years in the gutter and he was still a man free. Didn’t click with the natural order of things. He’d seen better men fall deeper. It only worsened the paranoia. He couldn’t help feeling that something big was coming to make up for all the punishment he dodged.

He accepted the current job for a number of reasons.

Most important being that he was low on cash. And cash was his only monetary means. Second most important was that it was home and a place he knew well.

Now the second one made him wonder. One of his rules was ‘never shit where you eat’. And yet, at this time of his life, it seemed perfectly reasonable that he should work his own land. This being perfectly reasonable was utterly unreasonable.

 Yet, it was _too_ reasonable.

And so he found himself in the dark of the stone building, pacing the darkness with a soft step, making his way by memory.

Left here, and then right, forward till the second exhibit, in the glass case on the right was the sword he’d come for.

What was it with rich people and old rubbish he never did find out.

As he was making his last turn a loud thump startled him still.

He waited crouched in the darkness as he tried to make sense of the noise.

Following the thump came a low groan, crypt like. Two softer thumps, as if of heavy clad feet, a clinking sound, metal on metal. Stillness, softer thumps, definitively feet, a clearing of throat, male then, and a voice calling “Davos?”

His heart raced like a jack rabbit, the beat audible in the dead silence. It couldn’t be anyone he knew. There were no others in the deal. It was just him that was contacted, no one that could be sent. Or, or what if this rich bastard had enemies? Rich bastards had loads of those. What if someone sent after him, to take the artifact, and then, then what? Kill him and leave him on the scene, send the man a message of ‘we will take your shiny swords and kill your old thieves’?

So what was he to do? Stand and hope the void accepts him as a friend?

But then the voice went on.

“Melisandre? Shireen? _Shireen_? _Shireen_!?” Then the thumps came loud and the man was walking. Walking forward, and on the right, and was coming towards him then.

He quickly ducked out the hall, pushed himself flat against the wall and waited. If the man were to turn his way then he’d topple him down, easily. And if he went the other way, well. It’d be a game of hide and seek, and he’d never lost there. Not yet, he reminded himself.

And what of those names?

The man seemed to stomp his way through, that soft clinking sound following his step.

An assault rifle?

Yes, that was it.

He’d been cocky.

 He’d gotten comfortable and self assured, as if this were ‘his turf’ and they’d known, or, well, _someone_ had known, and they wanted him dead, and there it was for him, armed with a bowie knife, he thought he could just waltz and take what he needed, well, the gods thought ‘ _not!’_ and sent his death in the form of man confident enough to call his death by name.

Not without a fight he wont.

The thumpthumpthump came to his left, yes, this was it, knife in hand, and poised for attack, the dark shape of shoulder peaked through and he _lunged_ , gave a cry of force and _stabbed_!

Into metal.

Metal armor, to be precise.

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by Les Visiteurs, the french movie where a knight and his vasal travel forward in time where they are taken care of by a 'relative' and get in all sorts of trouble. I love that movie, and I love Stannis and Davos. And I read all the angst and I thought to myself, how could Stannis and Davos have a fun time where I could laugh at Stannis while they're both in character? Here comes this fic in question.
> 
> I have thought out how the asoiaf story will fit in, so don't you worry about that. What I want to concentrate on is Stannis using a mobile phone and finding out Davos carries the title of 'bear' while he himself would qualify for an 'otter'.


End file.
